Heartfelt Sounds (31 page)
We have lived and we have died.
Please—let us pass on.
“How?” I ask it—shutting my eyes tight. “I am just as trapped as you are.”
“Listen to her—do as the dark god says.”
the voice hisses.
“The titan. Do her bidding.”
Sing, mortal.
Voice of the East—please,
free us.
Sing. We need you to
sing.
“Sing—bring us
peace.” it pleads.
“Please.”
Sing for these wretched souls who wait. Sing, Naia, and bring them to the plains of eternity.
“This is what you want me to do?” I whisper back, shaking my head. “This is your foul, earth shattering, plan? Freeing the souls of the destitute?”
Drain this sea. Free my titans. Let us walk freely upon Sorrel again.
The branches of my cage shudder. “You inhabited Lore so that you could bring forth an army of undead to force open Heaven's Gate—,”
I inhabited a mortal to find you—
My only purpose is to find you.
My only purpose was to find you.
My only purpose…
Shanti's voice. The violet eyed songstress's high-pitched, breathy, tones. Her notes are like screams fine-tuned into mindful lullabies. Her voice is like the call of a restless firebird. My eyes widen before I slap my hands to my ears.
“Stop it!”
I care not for whether this is right or wrong.
For, after a lifetime of love, and a lifetime of sadness…
“Stop! I will
not
sing!”
Then suffer. Suffer beneath the voices of those who have given their lives so that
you
might be
my
puppet. Suffer. Suffer for your
failure
to fulfill your purpose.
After our partings, after our times together…
I grasp that this is what the Fates have scripted for you…
Hana's voice. The mournful highs and lows that melded with the voice of any songstress. That picked up her pitches, or forced them down. That opened with warmth, that offered every girl the chance at voicing a beautiful melody.
And in this life…
…even though I have regrets…
…I will
not
complain.
Naia.
Naia…
“She's
not dead!”
You know so little. You're blind. You
refuse
to
see.
I open my eyes as my cocoon rocks towards the right. Slams into another ball of knotted wood before bouncing off. I go rocking with it when it moves.
White, blankets the peak of a distant mountaintop…—
“Stop!—please, mother…
stop.”
As the snow falls, my sorrow for you crumbles into ashes…
Can snow grasp how beautiful the fallen flower is?
Hana's voice melds into Yarne's deep baritone. Her voice booms around my ears—explodes from the sky outside with a crackle of thunder followed by a light peel of rain. Drizzle falls outside, slapping upon the water.
“You must call our souls
back,
Voice of the East. You must free us. You must
free us.”
“To do so would bring calamity upon my world. To do so would—,”
To do so, would fulfill your purpose.
Your destiny has always been to open the gateway.
You must
sing.
I cannot. I cannot do it. To protect my world—to keep these
things
from seeping into Sorrel…
If I am the gateway—
my voice—
if my voice is what can open Heaven's Gate and let them through…
My voice—my voice is all I have. It's all I am. Singing is the only thing I have ever excelled at—through all of my travels and all of my trials, it has saved me time and time again. It has saved others—it brought Nyx back from the
dead.
But it has also made you into a tool. You, Naia. You are their tool.
My voice. My
voice
is their tool.
But—no longer.
I bring my eyes to the wood of the rounded ceiling. “Find another gateway.”
The sea begins to roll sharply beneath me. Thunder booms overhead and rain pelts my cocoon. It slams into the waters surrounding me as hail. As cold, piercing, hail that falls against the wooden vines outside. That breaks branches and threatens to crack my cocoon wide open.
“My voice is no longer yours to command, Yarne. It belongs to
me.”
I am a
titan.
Hail assaults the crashing ocean outside, and I shift along with the ocean's rocking force.
I am your liberator. Your creator and your
god.
I hug my knees closer. I squeeze my eyes tight—trying to push out the noise. Trying to push out the sound of crashing waves and pelting hail. Thunder claps overhead—shattering the sky and I shiver against the metallic clash.
Your power is
mine
to command.
I have your
heart.
But my heart beats in my chest, now. It slams itself against the bones of my ribs as my mouth goes cotton dry. I shut my eyes tighter—but smile at this realization. At the sudden realization that I am no longer anyone's to command. I am no one's tool. I belong to myself.
“My voice—my voice belongs to
me.”
And my stomach drops. Water thrashes at the sides of my wooden cocoon as it submerges—taking me with it. Suddenly—I can no longer hear the hail and the crashing of the ocean. Suddenly—the rolling thunder seems so far away as my cocoon is pulled below. Deeper and deeper. I am pulled below the waves.
Even in
death
you will not be free.
Droplets of water tap upon my forehead and I open my eyes to watch water drip from a tiny opening between the threaded branches of my cocoon's rounded ceiling.
Sing. Sing, or
perish.
“I will
save
Sorrel. I will
not
open Heaven's Gate for you—or
anyone else!”
The slow trickle roars into a thick geyser of clear water that begins to pool at the rounded bottom of my cage. It isn't long before my back becomes completely drenched. The water is cool—inviting, welcoming as it begins to swallow and lurk around my heels. Outside of the gnarled branches, I hear the watery sighs of bubbles floating up to a silvery surface. Down here, the sharp call of thunder is blunted. Blurred by the harrowing sighs of a shifting sea.
Water swirls through my hair. I lift my head and bump into twisted branches above as I fight to keep my eyes out of the pooling water. As I fight to breathe.
Sing, girl. Open the gate—
free us.
I press my lips into a hard line as the water keeps coming. As it dribbles onto my face and showers me—cleansing me of everything I've done. My voice has taken lives—it has taken the lives of many. It has taken friends from me. It has taken me from my home and forced me into a world whose only wish is to use me. To see me as only a voice.
Voice of the East. You
are
the Voice of the East.
A goddess dwells inside of you.
No—I correct the voice—
no.
I am Naia. An orphan. A girl Yarne picked up off the streets so many years ago. I am Naia. A friend to those who would treat me as such. I am Naia. A peacemaker. A lover. I will protect others for those who have died protecting me.
I am Naia.
I am Naia.
Water surrounds me. Pools past my neck and I raise my chin above it—my throat straining. Veins pop beneath my skin and my heart screams in my ears as the water keeps coming. Cold sweat breaks out upon my forehead. Trickles down my temples and loops into my ears as the water keeps rushing. Keeps piling and piling upon itself until I can no longer lift my chin above it. Until it trickles around the sharp curve of my chin and bubbles around me.
Blue water curves around my face, forces my hair to float to the surface in sable swirls. My lips twitch as I continue to strain—as I continue to think that I'll make it. That no one—
no one
is going to take my life from me. Not this day.
Not this day.
Seeping water crawls over me, pulls my face down—but I fight against it. Water yanks my face down, and something
cracks
as my toes go numb. Beneath the pool, my fingers splay themselves and press into the gnarled vines at my back—but they too go numb. They burn until I can no longer feel them and something
crackles.
Something chilling and cold cries out beneath the water and grows around my torso. Looping around me—circling around me until cold is all I can feel.
My face is free. My nostrils rise above the water filling my cocoon as it freezes.
As everything goes ice cold and I'm suspended in ice.
Outside, the ocean crackles. Shifts and stills—freezing. Freezing all around me.
My breath comes in white puffs as my eyes flit from side to side.
I'm stuck. I feel for my fingers—for my toes—but it's like they aren't there. It feels as if they have been taken from me as my heart slows. As ice bites at my skin and begins to burn me.
Free us—
a voice whispers, gliding along the ice. Blowing warmth into my shell.
Everything feels raw—everything feels
wrong.
My eyes are heavy as my blood slows. As everything seems quiet, serene and slow.
You cannot fall—you cannot falter.
Shanti's voice—and my eyes snap open.
Y-you need to wake up, Naia! Y-you need to—
Chima's voice—they're…
speaking
to me…
You know what you need to do, girl. Just
think.
And Akane's breathe swirls through my ears.
“What—what can I
do?”
I call out—my teeth chattering together. “I'm going to…”
You can get
out
of this, Naia! You
can—
get up! Get
UP!
Fire roars through my body, breathing life into my fingers and toes.
You were never one to quit! You were never one to give
up!
Lore's voice—that's
Lore's voice!
Those souls up there are counting on you!
We're
counting on you!
My throat constricts as the ice seems to thicken. Frost dusts my eyelids—but I'm awake. I'm awake and moving within this prison of ice.
Bring us home, little sister. Bring us
home.
Breath chugs through my lungs, entering the atmosphere as white puffs. Thick ice presses harshly upon my chest as I expand my ribcage—trying to take a breath. Trying to suck in the last bit of oxygen I have left as the world spins around me.
I inhale—nostrils flaring. I inhale and think of the words. Think of a song especially for them—for the lost and the destitute. I think of melting this Sea of Sorrows and forging it into a new world. Forging it into a place especially for those that I and thousands of others have lost.
Sorrel isn't perfect—it isn't the place for them.
Our world is not good enough.
Bring us home.
I open my mouth.
Bring them home, little sister.
I sing:
In this bitter world, who can declare the difference between love and hate?
In these mortal realms, who can declare the difference between right and wrong?
My face feels hollow as I take another breath—another pause. Nothing is happening as I wiggle my fingers in the ice. My forehead feels light as my body becomes weightless—but I fight to feel my fingers and toes. I fight to keep my heart beating and my head somewhat clear.
But a fog rolls in, sweeping the lyrics of the song from my mind. A fog rolls in and clears all.
Still.
Still—
I sing:
Someday, I would like to ask—'In this world, who writes the scrolls of our Fates?'
The earth trembles, shuddering as everything begins to shake. Outside of my shell, I hear the ocean shatter into a million screaming pieces as the core of this world seems to thunder and roll with the quaking of the universe. With the quaking of this frozen sea and the cracking of this ice, the pieces violently shatter.
Someday, I would like to ask—'When mortals dream, who plucks the strings of the ancient zither?'
Fulfill your purpose, little puppet. Fulfill your
destiny.
I take a trembling breath as ice
screams
all around me. The ocean's falling to frightful little pieces as the ice in my cocoon begins to crack. Begins to tremble and divide within itself before it ruptures near my feet. Before a crack goes zigzagging towards my face and breaks.
And my song changes. The lyrics making me swoon:
And the night deepens, darkness pouring over all;
as your shadow silently fades.
The night's somber music quietly softens,
My hand punches through the divide in the ice. My feet free themselves—and suddenly, I'm shivering. I'm shivering with teeth chattering uncontrollably as an ocean of ice surrounds my chrysalis of wood. I pull my hands up to my forearms and try to stop the movement—but it's no use as my fingers stick to my skin and I feel my pumping blood go ice cold. I'm freezing—freezing to
death
as my heartbeat slows. As my breath comes out in white puffs and the ocean comes to life around me—ice melting, breaking into watery pieces.
I open my mouth—clamp down hard onto my tongue with my teeth and pain explodes within my jaw. Cold teeth rip through the mushy muscle of my tongue and liquid surges forth from the bite. Warm liquid. Liquid that stops the chattering.
I open my mouth.
You're almost home.
I sing:
…as rain pelts the hearts of the people who are missing someone.
The wind rolls over a thousand mountains,
as the sea deepens over a thousand miles;
Water pours from between the cracks of the gnarled branches up above, and splatters onto my head. Ice cold water pelts me—fills the cocoon up with a surging spray of churning ice water. I place my fingers within the crack of the threaded ceiling above and force my index and forefingers through the tiny opening the water spills from. I press my fingers and
pull—
wrenching hard to try and force an opening into the outside before the water drowns me. But as water piles up to my neck, something
twangs
in my wrist as I place too much pressure on the hole and I feel the fingers of my right hand scream with pain. But I've got to ignore it—I've got to ignore it as threaded branches over my head crack beneath the gathering pressure of the ocean. They crack and I force a whole hand through the opening before I send my entire arm up through the widening hole. The hole continues to widen and I throw my shoulder up against it as water floods up to my chin. Cold wet tickles my nose and I bring my feet under my body as I fight to get out. As I crack more branches with my thin shoulder and create a hole large enough for me to swim out of.